


Take Care

by AllFuckedUpOnLove



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asphyxiation, Character Death, Complete, Dead Castiel, Death, Depression, Hurt Dean, Hurt Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mild Blood, One Shot, Post-Season/Series 12, Sad Ending, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Dean, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 18:35:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11087544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllFuckedUpOnLove/pseuds/AllFuckedUpOnLove
Summary: Dean can't cope with losing Cas, the fact he'll never save the world, and the fact that his brother would be better off without him. He starts to think the world would be better off without him too. (Follows Season 12 finale)





	Take Care

“Dean, open the door.” Sam had been knocking every hour or so, hoping he could stir his brother from his room, which he barricaded himself in. The hallway remained silent; there was no creaking of floorboards, no rusted squeak of bedsprings to signal movement. Just silence. 

It had been a couple of days since Cas’s death and Dean still hadn’t accepted it. He and Sam salted and burned the body, which was draining for both of them, to say the least. They already lost the closest thing they ever had to a father, and yet again they found themselves in front of the familiar flame, saying a final farewell to their best friend. Dean kept the trench coat. It was wrapped around one of his flannels in the back of his closet.

Nothing was right. The world felt empty and Dean felt depleted. Sam did everything he could to try to get through to his brother. Dean only left the room at odd hours of the morning to use the bathroom and that was it. Sam would leave trays of food and water outside the door, which would be missing on every third trip or so to check on Dean. 

Sam was beyond worried. The nephilim was still out on the loose, as was Lucifer. This job was going to be difficult enough as it was for one Winchester, he didn’t want his partner in crime to sit out on this one. 

Inside the room, Dean lay curled up on his bed. The room cast in darkness and dust. He couldn’t bring his muscles to lift his body. The inside of his head turned into an echo chamber of negative thoughts. 

“This was your fault. You couldn’t save him. He was your best friend. He trusted you. You wanted him to be something more than he was and now he’s gone. It’s your fault. He loved you, and look what you did. Just like everyone else you’ve ever loved. Dead.”

He bit into his lip so hard it bled. The copper taste of blood stained his taste buds. Pain was the only thing Dean felt worthy of. He knew he was worthless. Knew he would never accomplish any good in this world. 

He saw what the world would look like without two crazy brothers who thought they could save it. A world without him. Overrun by monsters, filled with war of biblical proportions, yes, but he couldn’t help but think about who was still alive. The people he loved. The people his very existence put a death sentence on. 

He closed his eyes, as if to pray, before realizing there was no one there. No one left in heaven or on earth who could hear his pleas. No one who cared. 

He sat up, throwing the blankets off his body, legs swinging off the edge of the mattress. He grabbed a pen and a small piece of paper. He scribbled something down quickly, before setting it on the dresser. 

He could feel the sinking weight of grief that made a home in his chest. His heart could barely beat, blood thickened with guilt. He knew he wasn’t worthy of breath.

He tried to come to terms with this. Tried to accept it. But the more it raced around his head, the more he realized that everything he touched got ruined. Sam would be better off without him. He always has been. He took down the British Men Of Letters without his help, just imagine the good he could do without his worthless brother holding him back. 

He thought this through carefully. Given, this wasn’t how he thought it would happen. At all. Guns blazing and all that crap he liked to preach, but he never planned for something like this. All he knew is he didn’t want to be a burden anymore. Didn’t want Sam to find some mess. Didn’t want Sam to have to clean up anymore of his mess. 

He fashioned himself a noose, tying one end of the rope tight to the metal pipes in the upper corner of the room. He stood on a small wooden chair, wrapping the loop around his neck. He could feel the frayed edges prickling against his skin as he pulled the rope tighter. Tighter. Tighter. Until he could feel his pulse against the rope. He wanted to savor the pain of it for a moment. Revel in the torture of it. He deserved this kind of pain. This punishement. This end.

He stepped one foot off of the chair, body weight sinking his flesh further into the rope. His breathing labored and harsh. He thought about his life. He thought about whether or not he deserved to live. He thought about all he went through with Sam. He thought about his mom. His dad. He thought about Cas. 

Fucking Castiel. Angel of the Lord who gripped him tight, pulled him from the depths of Hell. And for what? This? To watch Dean destroy the world? To be killed. 

Dean’s body was numb, unaware of the tears he had been crying. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t deserve to be here. Why was he still alive when none of the others were? What made him so special? He didn’t deserve any of it. He ruined everything good. Everything. Gone. 

“Cas, I’m so sorry. Sam….” He sobbed, near exhaustion, throat swelled and vision blurred. He couldn’t stay. He couldn't bear the weight of this anymore. 

He stepped off the chair. 

The sound of it’s legs scraping the floor seemed to scream through the intimate quiet of the moment.

He could feel his body twitch. Fighting for him to live. Lungs gasping in his chest, face flushed and eyes bulging.

He faded… faded… faded. And was gone.

 

It wasn’t for weeks later, after denial, demon deals, an un-returned call to God himself, and the inevitable fire, that Sam finally gained the courage to go into Dean’s room. He saw a folded-up note on the dresser, the word “Bitch” written on the front. The paper sat between his fingers like a whisper from the grave.

“Sammy, I’m sorry. Take care of baby. Take care of yourself. -Dean”

Sam shook his head, laughing to fight the tears. 

“Jerk.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos and comments! I appreciate it all! You guys are great!  
> I wrote this cause I was in a rough place mentally, and it helps to write it out sometimes. I don't know if this will help anyone, but, we all are looking for something to relate to, so maybe this will make you feel a little less alone! :)
> 
> Stay safe. Stay alive. AKF!


End file.
